Girls, Wormholes, and Other Dimensional Mayhem (1/?)
Title: Ice Queen
Rating: PG (mild language)
Characters: Rose Tyler
Length: 1300 words
Spoilers: Doctor Who through season 4, Torchwood through season 2
Summary: Rose pays the price for a miscalculation.
Well, that’s not how that was supposed to go, Rose thought as she gingerly peeled her palms away from the frozen ground.
A/N: This is AU, as will be the entire story.
Well, that’s not how that was supposed to go, Rose thought as she gingerly peeled her palms away from the frozen ground. With a pained hiss, she started a mental self-check as she got slowly to her knees, and then staggered to her feet. Her head was pounding, and she was a bit dizzy, but aside from the sting of her palms where she’d just left a layer of skin attached to the ice beneath her, and a few bruised ribs that she was reasonably sure weren’t broken, she seemed to be intact.
She staggered over to a relatively flat chunk of ice and sat down, surveying her surroundings. Yep, ice. Lots and lots of ice. She seemed to be in a small cave made completely of ice, maybe five meters across and twice that tall. Not surprisingly, it was cold, she noted as she realized she could see her breath. Probably not much less than freezing, but her suit jacket wouldn’t keep her very warm for very long. Leave it to Rose Tyler to get stranded in the freezing cold wearing just her work clothes.
Speaking of which, what the bloody hell had gone wrong? The Torchwood staff had been at work for months on the final calculations to merge the Rift Manipulator with the Dimension Cannon. They’d checked and re-checked and triple-quadruple-checked the calculations a dozen times. They’d tested it a dozen more. Pete, (He was still reluctant to let her call him Dad, and seeing as she was technically his employee, she hadn’t pressed the issue) had been insistent, at Jackie’s insistence, that if Rose Marion Tyler was going to blow a hole in reality with herself, then by god it had better be safe.
But they weren’t just blowing a hole in the universe. It had been Mickey’s idea, god he’d been amazing since he’d gotten a bit of confidence under his belt, yeah? She was punched straight in the face with guilt every damn time she saw him. He was so different. Dangerous, and quick-witted, and take-charge, and damnit… still in love with her. And the worst part, the guiltiest part, was that she still loved him too, a little, and she could almost be in love with him except… well, except.
Except she was still trying to get back to her Doctor.
And Mickey, god bless him, Mickey had come up with the most brilliant idea.
He’d lost a member of his squad in the confusion of battle, and they’d had to use the open signal of the unconscious man’s radio to triangulate his position. They’d located him within a matter of minutes, snatching him out of the path of a group of oncoming Cybermen with only seconds to spare. Later that evening, perched on the edge of her desk and filching the chips that were all she’d had time to grab for dinner, he’d been telling her the story with his usual boisterous enthusiasm when he’d suddenly exclaimed, “Oi! I bet you could do that with the cannon!”
She’d stared at him slack-jawed, first in confusion, then in amazement, as he’d detailed his idea for the Dimension Cannon. She’d had to admit, the concept was both sound and brilliant.
She and Tosh had gotten to work immediately, and within hours Tosh had announced with a grin that they could, in fact, make it work.
Rose stood, immediately pleased to discover that the dizziness had gone, and her headache was already fading to a dull throb behind her eyes. She took another look around, getting a better idea of her surroundings. Where the bloody hell was she?
They’d used the readings from her last seconds-long trip into her home universe to pinpoint the location of the Rift in Cardiff. She’d been way off in time, but at least it was better than that other universe she’d accidentally punched into, the one where her Doctor was dead. They’d used that location as a focal point, along with the Rift under Pete’s Torchwood facility and the entry point where she’d first tumbled through the void in the old Torchwood Tower in Canary Wharf, to triangulate the targeting system of the cannon. With three points of reference, she should have landed exactly where and when she’d intended. This deepfreeze was absolutely not it.
A gentle roar above her drew her eyes up to the natural chimney in the roof of the cave that opened up some five or so meters further up. A swift wind blew snow flurries past stars she didn’t recognize. She realized with a sinking feeling, before she’d really even bothered to look around, that the lack of movement in the air around her most likely meant that there were no exits at her level. This was a hollowed chasm, not a cave. A slow circle confirmed her suspicions. Fifteen meters straight up appeared to be her only way out. She’d had quite enough adventures in her lifetime to know that the natives weren’t always friendly, so screaming for help would be closer to a last resort. Right then, time to inventory her assets.
There was the giant block of ice she’d sat on, and she noted with amusement that water seemed to drip from only one side of the chimney, so the big block of ice on the bottom was piled with a sheet of ice on the back, sloping towards the sides, and was shaped rather like a shining, rounded throne. There were a few other frozen stalagmites scattered around the hollow, only four of them more than a few inches tall. Not terribly useful. A few small sticks scattered across the floor could be of use, as might the knowledge that somewhere on this planet there was apparently vegetation.
A survey of her person revealed first her service pistol. Pete’s Torchwood was more open than in her home universe, more like a military force, or police. Pete had, therefore, insisted that she be trained in and licensed for a sidearm. He’s also insisted on hand to hand combat training. She’d rather liked that part, actually. Taking out her frustrations on a heavy bag made her far less snappish at work.
Her pockets soon revealed themselves to be in possession of a tube of chap-stick, forty quid, and her mobile. Grinning, she whipped the phone out of her pocket and snapped it open. It had a full charge, brilliant. And no signal. How was that even possible?
Her heart sank as she stared at the no signal message. The wind howled above her, but down here… there was only empty, ringing silence. “Oh, Doctor,” she whispered, “Really mucked it up this time, yeah?”
Her heart stuttered as something moved on the other side of the ice throne.
Rose held her breath as she slowly reached under her blazer and drew her sidearm. Slowly, oh so slowly, she thumbed off the safety and took a two-handed grip. Not even the sonic jellies of Cortillius IV could have heard the tread of her trainers as she crept silently in a wide arc around the mound of ice, pistol pointed at the ground in front of her, gripped in white-knuckled hands.
With a gasp like a drowning man suddenly breaking the surface, which drew an answering squeak from her own lips, a man suddenly popped up from floor level. He panted heavily as his hand scrambled for purchase on the throne, and she took a step back as he heaved himself onto the block of ice.
She raised the pistol to point at his head. He looked up at her as she took another step back, her foot landing on a piece of wood that protested with a sharp crack. Beautiful blue eyes met hers, and he stared at her with a shocked, open-mouthed expression that mirrored her own.
His lips moved soundlessly for a moment. Then he coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“Rose?” he croaked.
She stood there, staring in stunned silence for long enough that one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He looked utterly amused.
“J-“ she stuttered, uncomprehending. “Jack?”
Rating: PG (mild language)
Characters: Rose Tyler
Length: 1300 words
Spoilers: Doctor Who through season 4, Torchwood through season 2
Summary: Rose pays the price for a miscalculation.
Well, that’s not how that was supposed to go, Rose thought as she gingerly peeled her palms away from the frozen ground.
A/N: This is AU, as will be the entire story.
Well, that’s not how that was supposed to go, Rose thought as she gingerly peeled her palms away from the frozen ground. With a pained hiss, she started a mental self-check as she got slowly to her knees, and then staggered to her feet. Her head was pounding, and she was a bit dizzy, but aside from the sting of her palms where she’d just left a layer of skin attached to the ice beneath her, and a few bruised ribs that she was reasonably sure weren’t broken, she seemed to be intact.
She staggered over to a relatively flat chunk of ice and sat down, surveying her surroundings. Yep, ice. Lots and lots of ice. She seemed to be in a small cave made completely of ice, maybe five meters across and twice that tall. Not surprisingly, it was cold, she noted as she realized she could see her breath. Probably not much less than freezing, but her suit jacket wouldn’t keep her very warm for very long. Leave it to Rose Tyler to get stranded in the freezing cold wearing just her work clothes.
Speaking of which, what the bloody hell had gone wrong? The Torchwood staff had been at work for months on the final calculations to merge the Rift Manipulator with the Dimension Cannon. They’d checked and re-checked and triple-quadruple-checked the calculations a dozen times. They’d tested it a dozen more. Pete, (He was still reluctant to let her call him Dad, and seeing as she was technically his employee, she hadn’t pressed the issue) had been insistent, at Jackie’s insistence, that if Rose Marion Tyler was going to blow a hole in reality with herself, then by god it had better be safe.
But they weren’t just blowing a hole in the universe. It had been Mickey’s idea, god he’d been amazing since he’d gotten a bit of confidence under his belt, yeah? She was punched straight in the face with guilt every damn time she saw him. He was so different. Dangerous, and quick-witted, and take-charge, and damnit… still in love with her. And the worst part, the guiltiest part, was that she still loved him too, a little, and she could almost be in love with him except… well, except.
Except she was still trying to get back to her Doctor.
And Mickey, god bless him, Mickey had come up with the most brilliant idea.
He’d lost a member of his squad in the confusion of battle, and they’d had to use the open signal of the unconscious man’s radio to triangulate his position. They’d located him within a matter of minutes, snatching him out of the path of a group of oncoming Cybermen with only seconds to spare. Later that evening, perched on the edge of her desk and filching the chips that were all she’d had time to grab for dinner, he’d been telling her the story with his usual boisterous enthusiasm when he’d suddenly exclaimed, “Oi! I bet you could do that with the cannon!”
She’d stared at him slack-jawed, first in confusion, then in amazement, as he’d detailed his idea for the Dimension Cannon. She’d had to admit, the concept was both sound and brilliant.
She and Tosh had gotten to work immediately, and within hours Tosh had announced with a grin that they could, in fact, make it work.
Rose stood, immediately pleased to discover that the dizziness had gone, and her headache was already fading to a dull throb behind her eyes. She took another look around, getting a better idea of her surroundings. Where the bloody hell was she?
They’d used the readings from her last seconds-long trip into her home universe to pinpoint the location of the Rift in Cardiff. She’d been way off in time, but at least it was better than that other universe she’d accidentally punched into, the one where her Doctor was dead. They’d used that location as a focal point, along with the Rift under Pete’s Torchwood facility and the entry point where she’d first tumbled through the void in the old Torchwood Tower in Canary Wharf, to triangulate the targeting system of the cannon. With three points of reference, she should have landed exactly where and when she’d intended. This deepfreeze was absolutely not it.
A gentle roar above her drew her eyes up to the natural chimney in the roof of the cave that opened up some five or so meters further up. A swift wind blew snow flurries past stars she didn’t recognize. She realized with a sinking feeling, before she’d really even bothered to look around, that the lack of movement in the air around her most likely meant that there were no exits at her level. This was a hollowed chasm, not a cave. A slow circle confirmed her suspicions. Fifteen meters straight up appeared to be her only way out. She’d had quite enough adventures in her lifetime to know that the natives weren’t always friendly, so screaming for help would be closer to a last resort. Right then, time to inventory her assets.
There was the giant block of ice she’d sat on, and she noted with amusement that water seemed to drip from only one side of the chimney, so the big block of ice on the bottom was piled with a sheet of ice on the back, sloping towards the sides, and was shaped rather like a shining, rounded throne. There were a few other frozen stalagmites scattered around the hollow, only four of them more than a few inches tall. Not terribly useful. A few small sticks scattered across the floor could be of use, as might the knowledge that somewhere on this planet there was apparently vegetation.
A survey of her person revealed first her service pistol. Pete’s Torchwood was more open than in her home universe, more like a military force, or police. Pete had, therefore, insisted that she be trained in and licensed for a sidearm. He’s also insisted on hand to hand combat training. She’d rather liked that part, actually. Taking out her frustrations on a heavy bag made her far less snappish at work.
Her pockets soon revealed themselves to be in possession of a tube of chap-stick, forty quid, and her mobile. Grinning, she whipped the phone out of her pocket and snapped it open. It had a full charge, brilliant. And no signal. How was that even possible?
Her heart sank as she stared at the no signal message. The wind howled above her, but down here… there was only empty, ringing silence. “Oh, Doctor,” she whispered, “Really mucked it up this time, yeah?”
Her heart stuttered as something moved on the other side of the ice throne.
Rose held her breath as she slowly reached under her blazer and drew her sidearm. Slowly, oh so slowly, she thumbed off the safety and took a two-handed grip. Not even the sonic jellies of Cortillius IV could have heard the tread of her trainers as she crept silently in a wide arc around the mound of ice, pistol pointed at the ground in front of her, gripped in white-knuckled hands.
With a gasp like a drowning man suddenly breaking the surface, which drew an answering squeak from her own lips, a man suddenly popped up from floor level. He panted heavily as his hand scrambled for purchase on the throne, and she took a step back as he heaved himself onto the block of ice.
She raised the pistol to point at his head. He looked up at her as she took another step back, her foot landing on a piece of wood that protested with a sharp crack. Beautiful blue eyes met hers, and he stared at her with a shocked, open-mouthed expression that mirrored her own.
His lips moved soundlessly for a moment. Then he coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“Rose?” he croaked.
She stood there, staring in stunned silence for long enough that one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He looked utterly amused.
“J-“ she stuttered, uncomprehending. “Jack?”